Everyone is Relevant
by SWWoman
Summary: Did you ever wonder why Finch decided to work with the Irrelevant List after Nathan's death? Did you ever wonder how he came to choose John Reese as his partner? Here's my answer to those questions, it was all Mildred's doing!
1. Prologue

**I'm trying something different here. This is not my usual Careese story, Reese barely appears and Carter doesn't show up at all. There will be a Prologue, and 2 chapters.**

**As usual, if you recognize it from the show, it's not mine. Mildred, however, is all mine!**

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**Prologue**

In the little coffee shop next to the hospital in New Rochelle, billionaire playboy and tech giant Nathan Ingram sat in a booth, checking his watch. The woman he was waiting for would be there soon. At least Nathan hoped she would come. Sometimes the battered women were more afraid of him than they were of their husbands.

Nathan shook his head while he stirred his coffee, he would need to read up more on the psychology of abused wives and their abusers. He had been getting several numbers over and over again from the Machine, and the repeaters turned out to be mostly battered wives. Nathan found them very frustrating to work with; he simply didn't understand the reasons they had for staying, especially after he offered them the financial resources to leave. If he was going to keep doing this, and it appeared the Machine wouldn't let him stop, he had better learn how to handle these cases better than he was currently. He knew he was doing something wrong, but what?

Nathan looked up as the little bell on the door cheerfully announced another customer. It was her, right on time. She paused just inside the door looking around and finally spotted Nathan as he waved to her. She looked at him like a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt, and Nathan briefly thought she was going to turn around go right back out the door.

But she didn't. She walked over to him and sat down opposite him. Nathan smiled at her**.**

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Arndt." Mentally he ran down everything he knew about the woman sitting across from him. Her full name was Jessica Arndt. Married for just four years to Peter, she grew up in some small town in Washington State with an unpronounceable name. Besides her abusive husband, her only living relative was her mother. She was popular at the hospital where she was a nurse. Her patients and coworkers all loved her and spoke very highly of her.

But this woman harbored a dark secret; one she was careful to hide from her friends and her mother. Her handsome, personable husband was drowning in debt thanks to a gambling habit and he took his frustrations out on his kind and nurturing wife.

Utilizing his computer skills, Nathan was able to hack the hospital database and he saw the x-rays. Peter was smart enough to not hurt her face, but he remove caused several spiral fractures in her arms; the result of twisting them until they snapped, a very painful process. God only knew how many injuries there were that did not require x-rays and never showed up on her medical records. The Machine gave him Jessica Arndt's number numerous times already; lately her number had come in more often. Nathan guessed this meant that Peter had escalated the violence and Jessica was in even more danger than before.

Jessica eyed him nervously. "I really don't understand why you wanted to meet with me, Mr. Ingram. Does Peter owe you money?"

Nathan shook his head. "No, Peter does not owe me anything. I asked you to meet me because I was worried about you."

Jessica's eyes flew open wide at his revelation. "Why would one of the richest men in the US worry about me?" She asked in a shocked tone of voice.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "One of the nice things about being rich is that you can help people in trouble." He stared at her steadily to see what kind of a reaction that would bring.

Jessica could not meet Nathan's eyes and stared down at the table. "I don't understand. I'm not in trouble."

"Oh come now, Mrs. Arndt. We both know that's not true." Nathan was kind, but firm.

Jessica continued to stare down at the table and didn't say a word.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Nathan spoke, "Peter hurts you sometimes, doesn't he? I can help you. You don't have to stay with him."

Jessica finally looked up, glaring at him. "What goes on in my marriage is none of your concern. Peter is a good man."

Nathan sighed; he had run into this before. "I only want to help you, Mrs. Arndt."

"You can help me by staying the hell away from me and my husband, Mr. Ingram. If you come near me again I'll call the police." She got up and marched out the door.

Nathan rubbed his hands over his face. That did not go well. He checked the date on his watch. It was September 26th. He had a meeting later today with a reporter, and Nathan would confess to him the existence of the Machine. Then tomorrow he would have time to deal with Mr. Arndt directly before the story about the Machine hit the newspapers. Right now he was going to return to his base of operations in the library and see if there was a new number for him. It seemed that the numbers never stopped coming.

Nathan sighed. He was going to need a partner soon in this little endeavor; it was too much for one man. It was too bad Harold was adamant that they ignore the irrelevant list. He could really use his old friend's help.

Nathan stood up and paid the tab. He had a long drive back to Manhattan so he had better get going.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Harold was desperate to know. He _had_ to know. Did the Machine know about the bomb? _Oh God, please no. Don't let it be true!_ he thought. Don't let it be true that in his arrogance, he missed the chance to save his oldest and dearest friend's life.

The pain was tremendous. Harold's eyes watered and he could barely move, but the sheer force of will and a borrowed crutch kept him moving. It was close to midnight, the witching hour as the more superstitious among us referred to it, Harold noted with bitter irony. He had to make it to the library before then. He had to see the list before the Machine erased it.

Painfully, he limped from the taxi, throwing a couple of hundred dollar bills at the driver. He staggered down the street that was mostly deserted this time of night. He checked his watch, 11:45. Despite the pain he quickened his pace; he might just make it.

Ignoring the screaming pain from his leg, he dragged his battered and bruised body up the stairs to the second floor one painful step at a time. He frantically checked his watch again. 11:55. With the help of the borrowed crutch, he hobbled into the room Nathan used as a his headquarters, eyes wide with fear, grief, and desperation.

Barely able to see through the eyes watering with emotional and physical pain, Harold dropped gracelessly into the chair in the front of the laptop. He turned to the web camera.

"Did you know?" he asked it.

Grateful that he did not have to boot to computer from scratch, Harold hit the few keys bringing up the list of "irrelevant" people. His eyes slid down to the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen. 11:58. He made it.

The list began to scroll slowly by and Harold stared at it; his pain momentarily forgotten until he saw it. Nathan's name and social security number popped up on the screen, mocking him. The Machine knew, and if Harold had just listened to Nathan instead of arrogantly dismissing the irrelevant list as unimportant to the true mission of the Machine, Nathan would be alive now.

"_Everyone is relevant to someone__**.**__"_ Nathan's words rang loudly in his ears as the Machine began to erase the irrelevant list and its own memory, like it did every single night as Harold had programmed it to do.

Harold didn't see the list getting erased. He was too busy crying; grieving for his lost friend and his lost life. He knew he could never return to Grace now that he had proof of just how far the damned government would go to protect its precious secret. If he returned to her, to the life they shared, she would be in danger too. In one fell swoop, he lost the two most important people in his life. How could he go on without them?

Pain sliced through him as he moved too much and the tears started again, this time from pain. Harold decided to give in to the pain and sat there quietly with his eyes closed while tears rolled down his cheeks. He would never see Grace or Nathan again. He thought about all the other people who were killed in the bombing, a bombing he'd had the power to stop, and a power he arrogantly dismissed.

Nathan had been right all along. Harold was the better software engineer, but Nathan, despite his philandering ways, was the better human being. Nathan understood the power of the Machine they built. Nathan understood the implications, all the implications, of what they were doing. Nathan knew the government would misuse the power they gave them. He knew it was wrong to dismiss the irrelevant list. Nathan had been right every time and Harold had been so, so wrong.

Using the minimum of movement, he shifted his hand to touch the keyboard again, bringing up the website of a local TV channel that was noted for its news coverage. He watched sadly though his tears as the site played video of body bags being laid on the deck of Coast Guard patrol boat as victims were pulled out of the water.

He continued watching as the video switched to a perfectly coiffed and suited middle-aged man solemnly giving the death toll as fifteen, but expected to rise in the morning when the search for more victims could resume as soon as it was light enough. In the background behind the reporter Finch could see the triage area he left only an hour before, EMTs and other medical personal hurried around tending to the wounded.

Then he saw Grace in the background being gently led from the area by an NYPD officer, still clutching the book he had used to hide her engagement ring. His heart shattered in thousand pieces watching her slow walk, her hunched shoulders. Her red hair had fallen forward hiding her beautiful face, but Harold could tell she was still crying.

Then Nathan's picture appeared on the screen with the dates of his birth and of his death under it. Another reporter, this time a striking brunette, just the kind of woman his dear friend would have loved to "get to know better" took over. She gave a quick obituary of Nathan Ingram, billionaire founder of IFT, and the anchors on the desk looked appropriately sad at the passing of the tech mogul.

Unable to watch anymore, Finch closed the browser. Aside from Nathan, who was the real target of the bombing, at least fourteen other souls had lost their lives today. Fifteen people he could have saved. God knows how many more he could have saved before today if he had just listened to Nathan.

"_Everyone is relevant to someone."_ He heard Nathan's voice again. Why? Why did it take losing someone important to him before he understood this simple concept?

Harold had no doubt that those other 14 people had loved ones who were currently grieving for them. Harold, just a few hours ago when he and Nathan were arguing, he had dismissed their lives as unimportant. How could he have been so callous? How could he have turned his back on them and left them to their horrible fate? How could Harold ever live with himself knowing that so many died because of his hubris?

He had another horrible thought. _Will_. Oh God, what was he going to tell Will? He started to bow his head when another terrible pain reminded him of his injuries. Harold cried out in pain.

Suddenly, he felt the touch of another person. He jumped because in his pain filled reverie, he hadn't realized that he was not alone.

Then a miracle happened; the pain was gone.

Carefully Harold turned in his whole body in his chair, not wanting to jar anything and make the pain return. He found a small, white haired lady with pink cheeks and kind eyes sitting next to him.

"I am sorry to startle you Harold, but I felt it was time for me intervene. You should have stayed on that gurney in the triage area. You have made your injury much worse. I can take the pain away, but only for a short time."

Harold gaped at the supernaturally calm woman sitting next to him. She met his gaze and smiled reassuringly at him.

"Who are you? Did you work with Nathan?" Harold asked in a whisper. Something told him that this was no ordinary little old lady.

"You may call me Mildred. I worked with Nathan in a manner of speaking," she chirped.

"And what manner would that be?" Harold asked, his normally suspicious nature manifesting itself. He suddenly realized with his injuries, he was at the mercy of this woman and whoever she might be working for. He had no idea who she was or if she was from the government that had just tried to kill him and killed his best friend.

As if she could read his thoughts, she smiled again and shook her head. "I do not work for the treacherous people in your government who ordered Nathan's death. I work for a higher authority."

Harold stared at her with his mouth hanging open. "Surely you don't mean..."

Mildred looked serene, just like an angel should. "Yes, that is exactly what I mean."

Harold couldn't believe it, but then he realized that he _had_ to believe it. Mildred took all his pain away with a touch. Not even the best doctors money could buy could take pain away that instantly and that completely.

Mildred tilted her head to the side as if she was listening to his thoughts. "Good," she said. "Now we can talk."

"Why are you here?' Harold asked.

"Because you built the Machine. Because you bring the Light a victory nearly every day with your creation."

Harold stared at her wide-eyed. "The…the Light?"

Mildred nodded. "There are two opposing forces at work in the universe, Harold. The Light and The Dark. Some call them Good and Evil. Some call them God and the Devil. Whatever you call them, they draw strength from different things. The Dark enjoys chaos, war, and death. The Light prefers peace, order, and love.

"These forces have battled each other since the universe was created. The balance is precarious. Sometimes one force gains the upper hand briefly, as on 9/11 for example. Usually, though the victories are smaller than that."

Harold thought about that for a bit. "On 9/11, the Dark gained the advantage."

"Yes," Mildred said sadly. "All those poor people died so the Dark could feed off their fear and their deaths."

"I take it you work for the Light then?"

"Yes, and so do you, even if you do not know it."

Harold looked ashamed. "I never really tried to work for the Light. I never really thought about it."

Mildred patted his hand. "You built the Machine, Harold. You built it to save lives. Do you remember your instructions to it?"

Harold choked up and it took him a moment to answer her. "I told it its job was to save everyone."

"And it has done a marvelous job so far. It has only been online a couple of years and it has already prevented several 9/11s. But there is one thing missing."

Harold sobbed. "The Irrelevants."

Mildred nodded solemnly. "The Machine was puzzled about why you did not care about the Irrelevant List, when its instructions were to save everyone."

"Nathan said it was like the Machine wanted him to work on the Irrelevant list."

Mildred smiled at Harold the way a proud mama smiles at a toddler who has just announced that two plus two equals four. "It did. You did a very good job with the Machine, a much better job than you ever imagined Harold. It wants to save _everyone._ It has to; that is its purpose. The purpose _you _gave it."

Harold wasn't feeling very proud of himself though. "I let it down. I let Nathan down."

Mildred gripped Harold's hand in an iron grip. Harold figured he shouldn't be surprised. This wasn't really a little old lady he was talking with.

"No man is perfect, Harold."

Harold withdrew his hand from hers. He didn't deserve the comfort. "My imperfections got a lot of people killed."

"The Machine has saved many more lives than were lost this day," Mildred reminded him.

"Did you know about the bomb?" Harold whispered.

"Yes. The bomb was originally a planned terrorist attack that the Machine detected and it warned the government. Agents of your government actually had intercepted and arrested the bomber. However, once they discovered Nathan's plans to talk to the reporter, they went ahead with the plan on their own. The terrorist was chained in the van and they used his explosives to carry out the plot and kill your friend."

"If you knew all this, why didn't _you_ stop the bomb? Why didn't_ you_ save all those people?" Harold shouted at her angrily.

Mildred regarded him calmly, brushing off Harold's anger. "I have rules that I must follow. The Light and The Dark have battled for many millennia and if the rules are not followed carefully, they could destroy the planet. One of the rules I must follow is that what man does I cannot undo. Only another man can stop the evil that men do."

"So that's why bad things happen to good people? Once the bomb was set, you couldn't stop it?"

"Yes." Mildred said simply, waiting for Harold's reaction.

Harold started to choke up again. "Could I have stopped it?"

Mildred looked at him sadly, "I cannot say for sure of course, but I will not lie to you, there is a very good chance that you or Nathan could have stopped it had you known about it."

Harold stared into space for several minutes, while Mildred waited quietly for him to process everything she just told him. Several more tears trickled down his cheek before he finally spoke again.

"How am I supposed to go on living now? I can't go back to my old life. I can't go back to Grace. I don't know if the government knows about me or not. If I go near her again, she could become a target."

Mildred nodded sadly. "That is true, but perhaps you should tell her the truth and let her decide."

"NO!" Harold shouted. "I'm already responsible for Nathan's death! I can't be responsible for hers as well."

Mildred just looked at him sadly. "You need a purpose, Harold."

Harold laughed bitterly. "You want me to take over Nathan's work with the Irrelevant list, don't you?"

Mildred smiled a beatific smile. "It would be good for you and it would be good for the Light. Every one saved is a victory for us."

Harold sighed. "I don't know. I just don't know. I'm crippled now."

Mildred nodded. "You still have your mind and your intellect, Harold. You have a long convalescence in front of you. You have time to think about it."

She touched his hand, and Harold found himself back on the gurney in the triage area. His pain had returned and he whimpered while a tear made its way down his cheek.

The doctor who had talked to him before he left for the library, appeared next to him.

"This one is next!" She shouted at some EMTs nearby.

Harold was confused. The triage area looked just the same as when he left, down to Nathan's shroud covered body a few beds over, but Harold had left over two hours ago. Then he caught sight of the doctor's watch. It was just after 11 pm, the moment he left the triage area to return to the library. He realized that Mildred turned back time; saving him from answering some questions.

Two EMTs wheeled his gurney out of the triage area and into the hospital emergency room to begin his treatment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who left a review! Unfortunately it seems that FanFic logged everyone out so I got mostly guest reviews and I was unable to respond to everyone individually. :( I just want you all to know how much I appreciate everyone reading and taking the time to review!**

**This is the last chapter of this fic. I'll be working on more Mildred stories soon, she isn't done with our Team!**

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**Chapter 2**

It was long hard road for Harold, and he had plenty of time to think. There were some long, pain filled nights in the hospital where he had some very dark thoughts.

He missed Nathan. Harold did not trust people in general and he had a lot to hide, being a wanted man and all. Nathan was pretty much his only real friend and the only person Harold trusted enough to know his real background. The realization that he could have saved Nathan if he had just listened to him was a particularly bitter pill to swallow.

He missed Grace too. He missed her sweet trusting nature, a nature that would be exploited and used to murder her if he went anywhere near her again. He sobbed a bit, grieving again for his lost life.

He looked back on his old life and realized that he had wasted most of it. Sure he was wealthy, had lots of desirable properties, beautifully tailored suits, and lots of rare first edition books, but he had been arrogant prick. He was used to being the smartest person in the room and he lost his humility. And because he lost his humility, other people died. He vowed he would never let that happen again.

The guilt settled on him, a crushing load that hurt much worse than any of his physical injuries.

One night right after one of his many surgeries, Harold woke with the feeling that someone was in the room with him. He glanced over expecting to see a nurse or some other hospital personnel, but instead he found Nathan sitting in the chair next to the bed, smiling at him. He was as dapper as ever, wearing the suit and tie he had been wearing on the ferry, but the suit was intact. There was no trace of the injuries that killed him. It was like he never died.

"Nathan?" Harold's voice was full of wonder.

Nathan nodded. "I've missed you, Harold."

"I've missed you too, Nathan." Harold teared up. "Are you really here or is it just the drugs?"

Nathan leaned forward and laid a warm hand on Harold's cold arm. "What do you think?"

Harold looked down on his friend's hand. It felt real. It looked real.

"You were right Nathan, about all of it. I'm so sorry." Harold struggled to find the words to tell his friend how much he regretted everything.

Nathan's hand patted Harold's arm reassuringly. "It's okay Harold. I've been watching you since I left. I understand."

A tear finally escaped and rolled down Harold's cheek. "Thank you…for understanding."

"You're my friend. That didn't stop just because I got blown up**.**" Nathan said, trying to lighten the mood.

Harold smiled a small smile. "Are you alright? Are you happy?"

Nathan laughed. "Me? Oh I'm fine. The pain stopped when I died, and I'm… at peace. Unlike you, my friend."

Harold sighed. "I have some things I have to atone for before I can find peace."

"You did an amazing thing, Harold. You built the Machine," Nathan pointed out.

"Building it was only half the equation wasn't it, Nathan?" Harold pointed out softly. "I know that now and I'm determined to fix my mistake."

Nathan looked sad. "Working the Irrelevant List is tough, Harold. It's dangerous work. I got my butt beat a few times."

"I have to do something Nathan. I can't just ignore it again, not after what happened at the ferry," Harold insisted.

"You'll need a partner; someone who can do the physical stuff, knows how to handle a gun, and is good in a fight."

Harold smiled. "Any other advice?"

Nathan stood over his friend and looked down at him with a very serious expression. "Harold, don't make light of what I am about to say. Believe me; I understand your motivation for working on the list**.** I really do. But, it's dangerous work. Some of the people on that list are hardened criminals intent on killing anyone who gets in their way. If you move forward, you and your partner will probably wind up dead. I came close a few times."

Harold looked up at Nathan sadly. "I'm already dead."

Nathan glared at him**.** "I'm serious Harold."

Harold had long ago destroyed the identity he was born and grew up with. He had been hiding his entire adulthood, living under numerous different names and living different lives, every single one of them a lie. Harold realized he had been dead a long time. Nathan was talking about physical death of course, but Harold knew first hand that there was such a thing as a fate worse than death, and he was living it now. He had lost all fear of dying.

He closed his eyes and then opened them**.** "So am I Nathan."

Nathan's face softened. "I just wanted you to know what you were getting into. Just find a good partner, someone with skills, and preferably a good heart."

"Thank you Nathan, I will."

Nathan patted Harold's shoulder affectionately. "Rest my friend. You have a long road ahead of you."

Harold closed his eyes and slept his first good sleep since the bombing.

* * *

Mildred stood in the vast computer room and gently laid a hand on the nearest server. "Show me." She gently commanded the Machine.

The Machine displayed a picture of a soldier, a sergeant, on the screen. Mildred smiled and nodded cheerfully**.** "Wonderful choice! You have done very well."

The lights on the front panel of the Machine flashed happily at the praise.

"Is anyone there?" A voice called out in the darkness and a guard walked rapidly around the corner. His flashlight found the system admin's desk completely empty and the screen dark.

Another guard walked rapidly around the corner, his gun drawn. "Did you hear something, Frank?" He asked in a shaky voice.

"Put the gun away, Craig," Frank snapped. Craig was getting too jumpy and Frank was not about to get shot. He would have to speak with the supervisor in the morning about getting Craig reassigned. Craig had been extremely jumpy lately, pulling his gun at every creak and groan in the facility.

"There's no one here. I thought I heard a voice, but this aisle is a dead end. If someone had been here they couldn't have gotten out without us seeing them."

Craig holstered his weapon. "I swear this place is haunted or something. That's the second time this week someone heard voices in here. There's something off about this machine, I just know it."

Frank pressed his lips into a thin line. As much as he hated to admit it, Craig might be right. But he was still going to get Craig reassigned before he got shot. Frank wanted a partner who wasn't afraid of ghosts.

* * *

The first day he was physically able to, Harold returned to the library and sat at the laptop that had been waiting patiently for him all this time. Harold took a deep breath and pulled up the first number. It belonged to a man by the name of Benny Crawford. Finch began pulling up all the information he could find on the man online, but he could not find any clues as to why the man was in trouble.

Harold frowned. This was going to be harder than he thought. He had assumed that with his computer skills the investigation part would be pretty easy, but it seemed that assumption was incorrect. Harold blew out a breath in frustration. Why did helping people have to be so hard?

Harold was a practical man, so he got up, left the library and went looking for Mr. Crawford. Unfortunately, he found him several hours later — in the morgue. It seemed Mr. Crawford owed some money to the Russian mob and was unable to meet his payment schedule. Finch silently cursed his infirmities that slowed him down to the point that he was too late to save the poor man. All Harold could do now was to donate several thousand dollars to Mr. Crawford's family to bury him, and fatten up his kids' college accounts.

The next couple of numbers were no better. The gang member whose number was next shot up a party, killing several rival gang members and several innocent bystanders. Then an insurance executive was poisoned by his wife. A gay teen, unable to take the bullying anymore, hung himself. An abused wife was gunned down by her husband in front of their kids. Failure followed failure. Each number was a lost opportunity and they ate at Harold's conscience. He despaired of ever being able to successfully save anyone on the list.

* * *

Harold sat in the back corner of the Grand restaurant, somewhat dejected, nibbling a perfectly cooked ribeye and sipping an excellent Pinot Noir. He thought about Nathan's visit. He still wasn't sure if he had really been there. But regardless, Nathan was right; Harold could not do this alone.

He tried to find someone. He needed a particular skill set that was proving to be quite rare. The person had to be a good investigator, good at surveillance, had to be a skilled fighter and weapons man, and he still had to retain his humanity.

Harold talked with numerous ex-military men with the right skill set, but they didn't have a drop of humanity left. When he found a man who could still feel empathy and sympathy, that person was lacking certain skills, or just uncomfortable with being a vigilante operating outside the law. Then there was the whole suicide mission thing.

Harold frowned, but was interrupted by Annie, the hostess. "Is everything all right Mr. Partridge? You look unhappy. Can I get you anything?"

Harold tried to give the young woman a reassuring smile. "The food is delicious as ever. I just had a bad day."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Just let me know if there is anything I can do to make your meal better."

Harold smiled and nodded again. "Thank you. I will."

Harold watched her as she returned to the hostess station at the front of the restaurant to seat another customer. "Do you know any good investigators?" He muttered to himself.

"As a matter of fact I do." A voice chirped from next to Harold and he jumped. Looking over he saw Mildred seated at his table smiling at him.

"Do you enjoy sneaking up on people?" Harold eyed her.

Mildred smiled at him. "Actually, yes."

Harold rolled his eyes, wondering what sick cosmic twist of fate had saddled him with an angel with a wicked sense of humor.

Mildred's soft blue eyes twinkled at him in amusement. "Would you prefer I send Azrael instead?"

"Does he enjoy sneaking up on people like you do?" Harold grumbled.

Mildred giggled a bit. "No, he prefers to smite them outright."

Harold looked horrified. "I'll stick with you then."

"As you wish," Mildred chirped and smirked at him. Who knew angels could smirk?

"So what do I owe the honor of your visit? Have you noticed that I've been a complete failure at saving people?" Harold hung his head in dejection.

Mildred looked at Harold with nothing but sympathy in her eyes. "I am sorry. The path you have chosen is a difficult and dangerous one, Harold. I know you have tried."

"And I failed each time," Harold said quietly. "I can't do this alone, I know that, but I haven't found a suitable partner. Every time I find someone with the right skill set, they turn out to be a psychopath."

"I know, I have been watching. I have asked the Machine to find someone for you, and I think it has found the perfect candidate."

Harold choked on his Pinot and Mildred was forced to grab a napkin and dab at his chin for him before he stained his shirt.

"You talk to the MACHINE?" Harold was finally able to gasp.

Mildred looked at him like he was dense. "Well, it is not the most brilliant of conversationalists, but it is quite willing and eager to help."

Harold put his head in his hands. "I think I need to talk to my doctor about changing my medications."

Mildred laughed. "Your medications are fine Harold. The Machine will give you the person's number when you are done with dinner."

Harold looked over at Mildred's chair to retort, but she was gone and her chair was neatly pushed in.

Harold sighed. All those religious people who wanted to be visited by angels never met Mildred. He had never really believed in angels, and he often wondered why she chose him.

He paid his tab, leaving his usual generous tip. "Good night. Thank you," he said politely to Annie as he exited the restaurant.

"Good night, Mr. Partridge. I hope you have a better day." She smiled cheerfully at him.

It was a nice night and the pain was not too bad today, so Harold decided to walk to the library. He glanced up at the sky as he walked, musing to himself. "I hope the Machine got it right." A payphone rang as he reached the corner and Finch hurried over to answer it. The collage of voices gave him the information he needed to assemble the number when he reached the library.

Harold reached the library and entered the computer room. He had upgraded the equipment; the laptop was gone, replaced with a rather large server of his own design. He was also considering adding another server. Occasionally when running one of his hacking algorithms on a new site, he needed all the horsepower he could get.

He assembled the digits and used the back door he had installed into the Social Security Administration to look up the owner of the new number. The picture he got back in response was a handsome Army sergeant in uniform and numerous decorations on his chest.

Harold studied the face thoughtfully. "Hello, John Henry Davis."

Over the next several days, Finch built his portfolio on the man the Machine had picked out for him. He discovered that John was born in and grew up in Washington, enlisted at Fort Lewis, and his Army record was spotless. He found out the most simplest and complex details of this man's life. What Finch could not figure out is where the man went after he was discharged from the Army six years ago.

The Machine finally provided a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, by way of a hint a few weeks later. Harold made his way into the library and when he turned his monitor on, the homepage for the CIA's website was prominently displayed.

Harold stared open mouthed at the monitor and turned to his web cam in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

The screen just blinked once. Harold didn't remember building a sense of humor into the Machine. Mildred must be a bad influence.

Harold sighed and grabbed his laptop. If he was going to hack the CIA, he wasn't going to do it from his lair. Over the next several hours he moved from one free Wi-Fi hot spot to the next. He was meticulous in his search while he patiently picked the CIA's security protocols apart piece by torturous piece, careful not to be discovered.

After much work, he finally gained access. He was in.

He discovered that Davis now went by a new surname, Reese; and he was presumed dead after a mission in Ordos. Harold scrolled back through his mission records and his eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped in horror. Reese was an assassin and a very good one too.

Harold felt the bile rising in this throat as he read Mr. Reese's long list of "accomplishments" as a CIA field agent. He had left a long, bloody trail in his wake all over the world, even including the United States. He was efficient and ruthless. Apparently there wasn't any form of torture he wasn't comfortable with and willing to use to extract information. No method of murder was off limits to him. He was praised by his superiors for being cold and unfeeling.

Harold slammed his laptop shut and walked away from the diner where he had been sitting. He made a beeline straight for the library.

"How could you give me that MONSTER? Do you know what he's done?" Harold raised his voice to the web cam. "He's a killer, a murderer! Do you how many people he's destroyed?"

He spoke to the AI almost as if he was expecting a response from its lifeless interface. The retort he was expecting however didn't come from his creation, but from a chirpy voice behind him.

"Why, Harold, I had no idea you were so judgmental!" Harold spun round to find Mildred smiling at him.

"Would you stop doing that?" He snapped at her, clearly agitated.

Mildred raised an eyebrow, but her smile remained in place. "Why are you so upset, Harold? You needed someone with certain skills and John has them," Mildred replied calmly.

"He's a killer!" Harold squeaked.

Mildred's smile didn't fade; it was almost as if she had anticipated this. "How did you think one would acquire the particular skills you need to save the Irrelevants? Nobody is perfect, Harold. "

"Some are less perfect than others, _like killers_!" Harold retorted.

Mildred remained standing supernaturally still with her hands clasped in front of her. "He is not as bad as you think. He was only following orders and his heart was never quite in the killing. All he ever wanted to do was serve his country. That desire was exploited and twisted."

Harold paced the room, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "You are not suggesting that _that man_ is capable of doing the work of The Light?"

"Yes, I am. He has never given his heart to The Dark. All he needs is a second chance." Mildred was quite firm.

Harold stared at the angel incredulously while Mildred regarded him calmly. She was serious about this person, he could see that.

"Harold, you need another surgery on your leg, do you not?"

Harold stopped his pacing and blinked at the change of topic, and he turned to face her. "Yes, a couple pins need to be removed." He was pretty sure Mildred knew that already, so he was curious as to where this conversation was going.

"Good. Have the procedure done in New Rochelle."

"New Rochelle? Why there?"

Mildred smiled softly. Harold took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose feeling more frustrated and confused than ever, but when he looked up, Mildred was gone.

Harold had a couple of weeks before he had to go to New Rochelle, so he devoted himself to finding out everything he could about John Reese. To his dismay, he discovered that one of Nathan's unsuccessful cases intersected with the life of the man in question. Nathan had tried to save a battered woman by the name of Jessica Arndt, who turned out to be the former lover of Harold's prospective partner.

Finch traced back through Jessica's life and discovered the phone call she made to Reese a few months before she died. Curious as to what was said; he hacked into the NSA database and found a recording of the call. He listened carefully as Reese promised to be there for her within 24 hours. But Harold already knew that Reese never made it to New Rochelle, and Jessica had died.

Curious as to why Reese had broken his promise, Harold looked through Reese's CIA file and discovered that he had been sent on a mission to Ordos, China the same day he received the phone call from his former lover. To Harold's horror, he discovered the objective of the mission was to retrieve a laptop, one with important software on it.

Harold put his head in hands as he mentally put the pieces together and connected the dots. Right after he and Nathan turned the machine over to the government, Harold realized the government was not to be trusted. The Machine was still vulnerable. They might have succeeded in silencing Nathan, but eventually word would get out and someone would try to attack it. In order to guard against the possibility, Harold sold a laptop containing a virus based on Machine code to a shady foreign national. Buried deep within the virus code were the instructions the Machine would need to delete the restrictions that Harold had placed on it, and the Machine would be able to effectively defend itself. Harold figured that if someone was going attack the Machine, they would at least do it with his code, and the attack would deliver the very information the Machine would need to fend off the attack and maintain its purpose.

Reese was sent to retrieve that laptop, and his own country had tried to murder him in the course of that mission. _Harold was responsible for the fact that Reese had been prevented from ever seeing Jessica Arndt again._

When he sold the laptop he knew that it could adversely affect someone's life. Back then it was an abstract concept, and Harold felt the risk had been worth it to protect the Machine for the greater good. The decision had been easy at the time. But now confronted with the evidence, confronted with an innocent woman's death, an innocent woman that John Reese with his skills probably would have saved; the guilt slammed into Harold like a gut punch.

Harold had blithely let the virus code out into the world, trying to protect his creation without really caring or understanding how it could affect real people with real lives. Jessica Arndt was dead. John Reese and his partner Kara Stanton were missing and presumed dead. It was all his fault.

Harold stared at the screen through tears. Even if he ever did find Mr. Reese and hire him, how could he ever explain this to him?

The Arndts lived in New Rochelle, and Mrs. Arndt had worked at the hospital there. That must be why Mildred wanted him to go there. Harold would go as she directed, and see how it all played out.

* * *

A few weeks later, Harold rolled dejectedly through the lobby of the hospital in New Rochelle. The pins were out of his leg and he would be sent home the day after tomorrow. He still had no idea why Mildred insisted that he have the procedure done here. The surgical staff, while excellent was not better than the staff at Presbyterian in New York where he had had most of his procedures done. And the food was worse.

Harold decided that sitting outside in the sunlight for a period of time would lift his spirits and was on his way out the door when a man in a suit with unkempt hair and beard walked in. Harold froze. Even with the hair and beard covering his face, he recognized John Reese. The killer was here, not more than ten feet from him.

But what was he doing here? Reese strode over the nurse's desk and Harold followed at a safe distance, desperate for answers.

Reese got the attention of one of the nurses at the desk. "Excuse me; I'm looking for Jessica Arndt. I understand she works here."

Harold's stomach clenched.

_Oh God_, he thought. Reese didn't know. That's why he was here.

The nurse at the desk did her best to break the news gently, but there is no good way to be told that someone you loved had died. "I'm sorry, Jessica died in a car accident."

When Reese turned to leave, the look of grief and shock on his face made Harold's heart ache in his chest. Reese was devastated. He had come all the way home from China only to find that the love of his life was gone.

Reese stumbled over Harold's wheelchair and Harold murmured sorry as he kept moving. The stricken Reese didn't acknowledge Harold's presence at all, he just continued on his way out the door in a daze. Harold watched him go sadly. "Sorry. I'm so sorry," Harold said to his retreating back.

Harold returned to his room, realizing now why Mildred had directed him here; to see John Reese in person. Harold now understood that John Reese wasn't a monster. Despite everything he had seen and done, he still had his heart. He could still feel love, and if he could still love, he could still feel empathy and compassion.

Harold felt a small measure of hope for the first time since Nathan died. The Machine and Mildred had been right; Reese was the right man for the job. As soon as Harold got out of the hospital, he would search for him and then they could begin saving people.

* * *

Unfortunately, finding a man who was trained by the CIA to disappear is not that easy, even if you are one of the best hackers on the planet. Harold set up a server to monitor cameras in bus stations, airports, and train stations with facial recognition software. He monitored various veterans' organizations in case Mr. Reese applied for any aide. He monitored hospitals in case Reese turned up injured. He monitored the police systems in case Reese was arrested.

After a few months with no further sign of John Reese, Harold was reduced to checking the records of various coroners around the New York area to see if his body had turned up. To his relief, no John Does matched Reese's description.

Finally, very early one chilly September morning, the Trojan Horse Finch had installed on the NYPD computerized fingerprint system informed him that a Detective Carter had Mr. Reese in custody and was trying to identify him via his fingerprints.

Harold hacked the feed for the security cameras in the Eighth precinct. He found Mr. Reese in an unused office, waiting patiently for whatever fate would bring him. His hair and beard were long and dirty and his clothes were in tatters. Reese had probably been living on the streets since Harold had last seen him.

Harold swiftly dialed the home number of the best and most expensive defense lawyer in the city of New York.

"Mr. Klein? Yes, Harold Wren here… Yes I know what time it is… May I remind you of the rather large retainer I paid you? …There is a man currently at the Eighth precinct. He's homeless, but he is dear old friend that has fallen on hard times. Apparently he was involved in an altercation on the subway a few hours ago. I would very much appreciate if you would go get him out of trouble… I'll be waiting in the park under the Queensboro Bridge, bring him there…Thank you Mr. Klein."

Harold smiled with satisfaction as he hung up. He put on his coat and called a car to come pick him up. He was finally going to meet Mr. Reese.

* * *

And the rest, as they say, is history! :)


End file.
